She had just a few days in Paderau to prepare to be presented to the Eleri, and she wasn’t going to spend it making apologies. She was done with everyone making suppositions about her life. If the court wanted to gossip, so be it. If Janeira wouldn’t forgive her, that was the woman’s prerogative.
Taryn was tired of trying to be what everyone wanted her to be. Including Rhoane. It was his future at stake as well, and if he wanted to place his trust in a lying, conniving bitch, then she wouldn’t stop him. What she could do was train hard and meet with Carga every day.
Without meaning to, she kept her distance from Rhoane and his kinswoman. Anje didn’t have any formal dinners, so she dined alone in her room, or with her younger sisters and Sabina. Her focus wasn’t on gaining Rhoane’s trust, but on her meeting with King Stephan.
She’d read Verdaine’s prophecy. Without the Eleri, she would fail.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The attack came on the fourth day of their journey north. The endless landscape of rolling hills coupled with a stultifying heat from the late summer sun made the travelers indifferent to their surroundings. When men on horseback raced down a ravine toward the caravan, screaming and brandishing swords, it took a few moments for the entourage to act.
The invaders’ horses, small but fast, delivered the attackers with terrifying swiftness. At first, Taryn wasn’t sure what she saw—their hairy chests were nearly indistinguishable from the fur vests they wore. Feathers and bones dangled from strips of cord tied to leather pants, giving a cabalistic feel to the moment. Their bare feet clutched their horse’s girth. Fierce looking weapons glinted in the sunlight. Those, Taryn understood.
As they charged the group, the captain of the guard yelled at his soldiers to form a line. Faelara and Duke Anje pulled in front of the two royal carriages, where Myrddin joined them. Sabina popped her head outside the door, saw the men, and shut the door tightly behind her.
Rhoane rode up to Taryn, shouting, “Get to the carriages,” while Baehlon galloped toward her and the Eleri warrior woman away from her. Taryn sat motionless on Ashanni, trying to make sense of the confusion.
Time slowed as the invading men engaged in battle with the soldiers. Horrific, huge, lizard-like horned creatures ambled down the ravine toward them. Larger than horses, they were covered in red scales with frilled gills that circled long, wide heads. Huge fangs protruded from their muzzles with spittle dripping from their gaping maws.
“Baehlon, look,” she called out to her protector.
He swung around, shouting to the others, “Vorlocks!” To Taryn, he commanded, “Get to cover.”
It took her only an instant to make up her mind. She grabbed her sword from its scabbard, directing Ashanni toward the fighting. Baehlon swore and rushed after her. She swung her sword wide at the first man she came upon, splitting his skin with a deep, red gash. Bone crunched beneath her blade, and she reeled with the impact. Her sword sang a battle cry, fueling her bloodlust with its intensity.
She raced past the man she’d attacked, veering left to cut down another of the hairy invaders, this time taking his head clean off. A jolt of revulsion ripped through her. She called on the focused calm she used in martial arts to keep her mind tuned to each man she fought. She ignored the blood and gore, focusing on protecting those she held dear.
A giant of a man rode past and then wheeled around, slicing at her with his curved sword. When she blocked his attack, a great clang rang out.
His eyes widened, a grimy smile cutting across his face. He let out a trilling call before swinging at her head. More men rushed to them as she blocked his attack again and again.
Baehlon reached her, screaming, “Get out of here!” But Taryn ignored him. The big knight swore a string of curses as he turned to fight men who rode up from the rear.
She studied the man before her, his scraggly beard and pointed teeth making her want to retch. He was circling her, chanting. He pulled power from around them, his threads forming a web. Without hesitating, she charged, slicing his power and plunging her sword toward him. His horse leapt aside, and she missed her mark. His blade did not. The dark metal slashed through her leather pants, making a clean incision on her leg.
Taryn cried out and swung Ashanni around. For an instant, she met his stare, seeing into his mind. Rabid with hate, his sole focus was to kill her. She kicked Ashanni hard and kept her sword close to her leg. At the last moment, when he raised his sword to attack, she thrust her blade into his side, connecting with his ribs.
He roared in pain. She kicked Ashanni again, steadying for another attack, but Lliandra’s captain of the guard rushed in, blocking her. “Leave him to me. See to the others.”
“Like hell I will.”
Two more soldiers joined the captain, edging her out.
“Bollocks!” She raced off to find a new victim. About two hundred paces away, one of the fanged creatures bore down on Rhoane. It stretched out a claw, knocking Rhoane’s sword from his hand before rearing up on its back legs, ready to strike.
She raced straight at the creature, pulling her feet up onto her saddle, balancing precariously. When they neared Rhoane, she let out a fierce cry and jumped from the saddle toward the creature’s fanged jaws.
She plunged her sword deep into its throat, and jerked viciously upward. The beast’s head split in two, with spittle and foam coating her arms. A horrifying scream rent the air as the thing fell backward, shuddering in its death. Plumes of black smoke came from its mouth and spiraled into the air.
She gagged against the fetid stink.
Rhoane recovered his sword and approached her, his face a raging storm. “What in Ohlin’s name was that? Blood’s truth, Taryn, you could have been killed! What were you thinking?”
She glared at him with open-mouthed incredulity. “What was I thinking? I don’t know, maybe I wanted to kill that thing before it ate you!”
She stormed off to find Ashanni, trembling at the pain that ripped through her. A gash ran from under her left arm to above her ribs, oozing blood down her midsection. “Shit,” she muttered. It must’ve come from the vorlock. When she tried to mount Ashanni, the wound robbed her of strength.
Knowing Rhoane watched, Taryn bit down and pulled herself into the saddle. She rode back into the battle, engaging the first shirtless man she found. He raised a spear, which she knocked aside before cutting him down. Adrenaline and battle rage eased her pain, but only just. Baehlon rode at her side, and together they fought any man who came near. The enemies’ trills and cries went unheard. All that mattered was her sword and their deaths.
Her mind raced as she surveyed the carnage. The battle was nearly finished, with only a few of the hairy men still fighting the empress’s guard. Myrddin sent a fireball at one of the vorlocks, killing it instantly. Faelara held a protective barrier over the carriages, and the younger princesses were outside, using their ShantiMari to calm the frightened horses. But Marissa and Lliandra were nowhere to be seen. Taryn grunted in disgust at their cowardice.
Baehlon wheeled around to face her. “I told you to get to the carriage.”
Anger swelled inside. “And do what? Hide and cower? Why the hell am I training every day if you won’t let me use it? For show?”
“You could’ve been killed.”
“Better to be killed defending myself than hiding away in a carriage. What good is that? Why have all that power and do nothing?” She stared at him, willing him to defy her.
“Bah!” He wheeled his horse around, letting loose a string of curses. Janeira rode past, inclining her head to Taryn before spurring her horse toward an invader. Ignoring the wound in her side, she did the same.
Once all the attackers had been captured or killed, the captain sent men riding west to scout for any stragglers. Many of his men had been injured, but only a few were dead. Taryn wanted to turn away from them but forced herself to look at every face.
She slid off Ashanni and offered her help to the wounded. Someone handed h
er a cloth and bucket filled with water. She moved among the soldiers—cleaning, healing, and giving what comfort she could, her own wound forgotten. Sometime later—she couldn’t say if it was minutes or hours—Baehlon found her and took the bucket away. The water was as clear as when she’d first taken it, the cloth unstained.
“Rykoto’s balls, Taryn, what have you done?”
“They fought bravely today.” She looked over her shoulder at the soldiers, most of whom stared at her in awe. “It was the least I could do.”
“Aye, help you did, lass.” He clapped her on the shoulder, and she winced. “Saved a few good men and women, I’d wager.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Killed a few bad ones, too. Does it ever get easier?”
“Never. Not even when they are nasty bits of business like these today.”
“What were they?”
“Vorlocks. They come down from the north, beyond the vier. Those hairy beasts are their handlers. For every man, there is a vorlock tied to him. We’ve not seen their kind in many a season. More than passing strange they would choose to attack on this day.”
“What do you mean?” Taryn walked with him toward the carriages, her legs threatening to give out at any moment, but she kept up with his long strides.
“We’re smack in the middle of nowhere. Four days out from Paderau and a good ten more to the edge of the Narthvier, with not a lot of villages or cities in between. Perfect spot for an ambush, if you were to ask me.”
“You think someone set this up?”
He cocked his head, his lips twitching. “Sure looks like a pile of dung to me.”
Lliandra strode toward them with a look of venom in her eyes. Taryn shrank back, expecting an onslaught of abuse. Instead, Lliandra grabbed her in a fierce hug, pulling her to her bosom. Taryn bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Don’t you ever do something so rash and undisciplined again. You could’ve been killed, you stupid girl.” Despite her words, there was no harshness in her voice. “That was a brave and foolish thing you did.”
Taryn debated telling her to make up her mind. Was she brave or stupid? Instead, she pulled away. Without warning, Taryn’s stomach roiled. She ran to the bushes, where she emptied the remains of her lunch. For several minutes, she stayed hunched over, until she was certain nothing remained.
Mortified the others had watched her get sick, she rejoined the group and, with a little shrug said, “Sorry.” She looked at Lliandra, expecting some retort, but all the woman did was touch her cheek before moving away.
The princesses surrounded her, but she pushed through them to the carriage, flinging open the door to flop on the soft seat within. The world spun with vicious intensity. Never again would she wonder what it felt like to be in battle, or to experience the thrill of striking an opponent. She liked the feeling she’d had when she plunged her sword into the creature, of hearing the crack of his jawbone, of knowing she’d defeated the beast. It felt good to win.
She must have dozed. When she woke, camp had been set up, with lights glowing softly in orbs around the fire. When she stepped from the carriage, Baehlon offered her his hand, and she jumped in surprise.
“Forgive me, Princess. I thought you knew I was here.”
She stretched her aching body, working out a cramp in her leg, wincing at the wound in her side. “Just for the record, those carriages aren’t all that comfortable. And why would I think you’d be here?” They walked together around the tents, following the sound of voices.
“As your protector, it is my duty to keep you safe. Asleep or awake.”
“I keep forgetting you’re my babysitter.”
His jaw tightened. “Protector. There’s a difference, but,” his voice was low, “I’m not above giving you a good cuff if that’s what’s needed.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She tried to punch him, but a jolt of pain shot up her body. “Damn.”
Baehlon held out her left arm, whistling at the gash he saw. “Why didn’t you mend this?”
“In all the excitement, I forgot.” He turned them away from the fire, toward her tent. “Baehlon, when I killed that creature, it was,” she searched for the right word, “satisfying. Does that make me a bad person?”
“Nay, lass, it doesn’t. If you’d killed a man and enjoyed it, then I’d say we have a problem.”
“Today, I just put myself on autopilot and did what had to be done. It was a kill-or-be-killed mentality.”
Baehlon nodded slowly. “That’s the way it should be on a battlefield. There’s no place for emotions. If you hesitate, you die.”
She lay on her cot, staring up at the tent ceiling. “I was afraid to use ShantiMari.”
Surprise lit across his face. “You killed that beast with only the strength of your sword?”
“Remember that day on the road to Paderau with all those feiches? I couldn’t risk something like that happening. Not until I learn to control my ShantiMari. All of it.”
Faelara entered the tent, glancing first at Baehlon and then Taryn. “Where is she injured?” Of course, Baehlon would call Faelara to help. Taryn tugged her tunic up to show them. “This is from no blade.” Faelara touched her skin, pulling her hand back immediately. “Vorlock venom.”
“As in poison?” Taryn groaned. “Just my luck.”
“Why didn’t you call for me sooner? We need Rhoane,” Faelara told Baehlon.
“No. You can’t tell Rhoane,” Taryn begged.
Faelara gave her a long look. “I need his help to heal you.”
Taryn dragged her sword from its sheath. “We can do it without him. This is different from the poison on the sword, I can feel it.” She placed the blade against her skin and bit back a scream. Instead of healing her, the sword burned through her skin, leaving a crimson blister over her festering wound.
Faelara ran from the tent, returning with bandages and water. After she cleaned the dried blood and pus, she poured an inky liquid into the wound that made Taryn squirm. Searing pain ripped across her midsection every time Faelara touched her. She gave Taryn a cup of wine, and she drank it in one long gulp, willing the alcohol to take immediate effect. When Faelara pulled out a needle and thread, Taryn bit her lip to keep from crying.
It took seventy-four stitches and three cups of strong wine to close the gash, each stitch burning more than the last. After another dousing of the black liquid, Faelara rubbed a paste onto the wound while saying a few healing words. Her Mari embraced Taryn, sinking into her skin. After she wrapped Taryn’s middle in clean bandages, she put another ward over the cloth and kissed Taryn’s cheek.
“Do try to be more careful. At least this seems to be from an adolescent vorlock whose venom is not yet at full potency.” Faelara’s voice was gentle. “A little like you.” She tweaked Taryn’s nose.
“Thank you, Fae.” The wine was working on the pain, but a deep throbbing continued. “Why do you think the sword didn’t work?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps there was still vorlock venom on it, but that’s just a guess. I do know this—you were lucky you only suffered a burn.”
They joined the others by the firelight. Several soldiers stood to salute her while others regarded her with curiosity. She nodded shyly to them, not wanting any added attention.
Marissa approached first, taking Taryn’s hands in her own. “Sister, we owe you our deepest gratitude for what you did today.”
“Thank you.” Giddiness and a bit of lightheadedness from the wine, compounded with her shock from the battle and the venom that still coursed through her blood, made her sway on her feet.
“Are you well?” A genuine concern for Taryn shone in her sister’s lavender eyes.
“Well enough. I’m just exhausted.” It was with no small amount of difficulty that she took her seat beside Sabina.
“I was afraid I would lose my best friend today,” Sabina whispered.
Taryn glanced at Rhoane. “Me, too.”
THE rest of the trip was tense for th
e travelers. Conversations were hushed and stops brief. When they camped for the night, myriad threads stretched overhead, warding the group against any nighttime invasions. Each day, Faelara checked Taryn’s wound, applying a fresh paste and bandage. The pain diminished, but every pit in the road threatened to tear her flesh anew.
Each night she slept fitfully. Her anxiety grew the closer they got to the Narthvier. A dark presence dogged Taryn’s vision, much as it had her first days on Aelinae when she’d traveled with Rhoane to Ravenwood. Whoever or whatever it was that followed them, she hoped it couldn’t pass through the fabled veils of the forest.
When at last they approached the huge expanse of trees, her breathing became more labored—her pulse quickened to dizzying levels. What lay behind them was only slightly less terrifying than what lie before her.
Rhoane and Janeira rode ahead of the group, parting the mystical veil that kept the Narthvier protected from enemy invasion. Lliandra stiffened as the veil lifted, looking around quickly to make certain there were no ambushes waiting for them. Since that one brief show of emotion after the battle, Lliandra had once again withdrawn her feelings. The disappointment slid off Taryn like an oiled cloak.
The trees, as old as Aelinae itself, towered over their heads. Their white trunks stretched up, their branches making an archway for them to ride beneath. Rays of sunlight drifted through the natural latticework to caress the ferns and flowers that grew alongside the road. The forest smelled fresh, like after a recent rainfall. Like Rhoane.
They left the bulk of Lliandra’s entourage at a clearing just beyond the first veil. The Eleri were protective of their land, not often letting visitors through. All of Lliandra’s guard, save for the captain, and most of her ladies and maids would stay at the camp until the group departed the Weirren. Marissa pouted that her favorite, Lady Celia, couldn’t accompany them. No amount of begging changed the outcome, and so it was a smaller group continued, leaving a disgruntled Celia and Herbret behind.
The Stones of Resurrection Page 32
